Down By The River

March 13-16
Luang Prabang

Luang Prabang, yet another UNESCO World Heritage site in Indochina came highly recommended by everyone I know or have met who's been there. “You must go see the waterfalls!” “See the caves!” “Don't miss LP – it's what Thailand was like before the farangs (white people) destroyed it!” and so on.

Destruction, hardly. But what the farangs did do was drive up the prices in this country. It is much more expensive than Vietnam, at least in the 2 touristy towns I visited. And unfortunately, the boom that's hit in the last 5 years (“main street” in Luang Prabang was apparently the only strip in town that was paved 5 years back) came a bit too soon for the local businesses to know how to properly deal with it. 35 bucks by American standards is not something you'd even consider spending on a motel room unless you wanted to get bit by rats in your sleep, but here that's generally considered mid-range accommodation. It's downright outrageous in the backpacker circuit. In Vietnam, it would probably mean a pool, free airport pick up and a gourmet dinner. I picked my guest house based on rave reviews as well as CNN (Australian Network news is killing me) and wifi. The place was spotless and new, with real mattresses which was a treat after sleeping on foam since Hong Kong. The owner picked me up at the airport himself and gave me a cold drink and some fruit when I checked in. However, the wifi was down until the morning I left and there was no CNN. Only HBO and Aussie TV in English. I tried complaining but it made no difference. So I spent most of my time in Luang Prabang away from my room, wheezing all the while since the air quality is so poor. (Burning of fields and trash is not regulated here, so everything is on fire all the time. The city is surrounded by mountains and they aren't even visible, nor is the sun or the restaurant down the block. I might as well still be smoking cigarettes.)

It is a beautiful, calm, peaceful old town. Many of the wats are from the 1400s, and the monks rule the place. Every morning at 6AM, they walk down the dusty streets in their bright saffron robes collecting alms, said to be their only meal of the day. The pious as well as a few tourists such as me sit or kneel at the curb (as you must always be lower than the monk) and pop a handful of sticky rice into their baskets. Nothing gets moving until this important task is completed. I was happy to see a few monks had been given bananas and even a cookie or two, I can't imagine they would live very long on only a few mouthfuls of sticky rice per day. Aside from visiting the temples in town, walking along the rivers' edges (LP is flanked by the Mekong on one side and the Nam Khan on the other, and they meet just outside town), eating at the excellent night market, sampling the tasty french pastries and crepes (I had a nutella crepe and almost forced myself to eat another one; it was a real treat after a month of noodles), there's not much to do in town. That's why main street is lined with tour outfitters, selling you any kind of Laotian experience you'd like, save for rolling around in the opium fields. I settled on a giant waterfall/swimming excursion one day, followed by a day of elephant riding and mahout training the next.

It was an hour long van ride to the elehpant farm, during which we got to see some of how the real Lao people live, which is to say: simply. Even in the poorest villages in Vietnam, most of the homes I saw had at least a concrete foundation, with walls made from bamboo. Not so much here. These folks lived in one room windowless huts, top to bottom made of bamboo. The foundations were mostly stilts, woven bamboo walls, palm or sugar cane fronds for ceilings. The only opening was the door – and of course all the thousands of holes where the walls were thatched together. My favorite part were the gigantic satellite dishes and scary electrical wiring that ran through all of these villages. They may not have running water or windows, but at least a couple of people in the villages had TV. I bet they had CNN! The hills were mostly teak forests in between the farms, which means dry, sparse, brown, dark and kind of ugly landscape. Then there are all the active landmines to worry about, which leaves fields of farmable land untouched. Eden it was not.

The elephant farm was pretty basic – 4 hut homes, 2 elephants, 1 out house, the family that ran the farm, and about 800 roosters/chickens and their offspring. I was thankful the avian flu scare is over, but still not keen on all these nasty chickens running around pecking at your feet and begging for food like dogs. If you've never seen a chicken run, you should google it. I tried to make them all run as fast as possible in the direction opposite from me.

Our first order of business was an hour long elephant trek up the mountain. If you've never ridden an elephant before, it's not exactly comfortable. The animal has a hundred pound wooden seat strapped to its back, then you add another 3-400 pounds of human weight to it. Wood does not exactly give, so as the elephant slowly lumbers up and down the hills, your spine bears the brunt of its movement against the back of the bench. You also hope that the bench is strapped on very tightly as slipping out while you're 9 feet in the air climbing at a 45 degree angle would not be pretty.

The elephant ride was pretty boring, mainly because the jungle was so dry and smelled of acrid smoke. What was also boring was the cave of 10,000 buddhas. Completely underwhelming dinky little cave that's been around for centuries. The ride there, however, was anything but. We had to cross the Mekong to get there, which was only the width of 2 football fields. 5 minutes by motorboat. That's when I got to see village life up close. We walked through the wretched village where I saw the most mangey dog I've ever laid eyes on, a duck that was surely at death's door (I prayed it was not lunch) and a cat not far behind it. Down to the river banks and we were assaulted by the filthiest children I've ever seen. They were all holding tiny little bird cages to sell “you buy biiiiiiiiiiiird,” to us to release the petrified birds in the cave. “No, I'm not buying your bird and no i'm not buying your friend's bird either.” I was in shock when one particular urchin demanded that I give him my bottle of water. “Me no water,” he kept repeating and pointing at the waterbottle in my hand. Thoroughly annoyed, I really wanted to scream “where the hell is your mother and why aren't you in school,” but just before I lost my temper, I noticed the Aussie guy recoil in horror and put a hat on his baby's head. I threw my water bottle at the boy and made way for the boat, later learning that all of the kids had lice so bad their hair appeared to be moving. Somehow I missed witnessing that. Small favors...

Our “motorboat” was basically a dinghy with a car battery attached to it. As we piled in, the captain was emptying all the water that had settled in the rear of the tiny vessel back into the river. This was not a promising sight. Half way across the Mekong and “put put put...” silence. The motor was dead. Now, one would think if you charge people good money to go on a tour involving a river crossing, you at least have a set of oars and some rope on board. One would be wrong if this line of thinking happens in Laos. Survival supplies located: one broken oar and no rope. And the current was strong. We were drifting. Things were not looking good, and I was getting myself used to the idea that we might be swimming for our lives when suddenly the lady in the front of the boat (who I thought was just hitching a ride) hurled herself at another boat crossing the river and miraculously managed to keep one foot planted and get one hand onto the other boat. She was essentially a human rope, using her body to tow us into the cave shores. One of our group grabbed onto her foot. As we got closer to shore, the human bridge had to break; it was too dangerous for her. We all did what we could to physically grab onto rowboats that were anchored and pull our little boat close enough to the others. Then the negotiation of other captains began- some of them wanted to actually charge us to walk across their boats onto the dock! Mind you, these are all 6-10 seater rowboats. It was absurd and tremendously annoying. Anything, including risking the safety of your passengers, to save on petrol or fixing your motor before it breaks down in the middle of the river to make a buck.

Amidst dirty looks and nasty comments, our guide negotiated a proper boat for the return across the river for the highlight of the day: swimming with the elephants. I honestly wasn't too keen on this idea. I had yet to ride on the elephant's neck and I had worn long pants on account of the bugs, forgetting to bring a bathing suit. I sat with the mom and baby in our group as the rest of the people helped to take the saddles and benches off the elephants' backs and climb up their faces to get on their backs, and then watched them dive into the river. After a few minutes of hesitation, there was no way I was missing out on this once in a lifetime chance. I jumped into the ice cold water and one of the elephants bent down under water so I could climb up on its back. This was easier than it looked, especially since I have short legs. I kept missing or getting thrown into the river, which would then carry me 10 feet away with its strong current, much to the delight of my companions. Finally on top of one of the animal, it was pretty amazing. Even when she kept blowing water through her trunk into my face, I really did not want to get down. It would have been a perfect moment, and briefly was, save for the fact that this is real life, and these are giant animals. The other elephant decided to take a poop and I watched it rise to the surface, break up and float by everyone swimming in its wake. From my high vantage point, I could also notice the creatures on shore: water buffalo, dogs, cats, chickens, humans. There was no sewage system out here, all the shit went into the river that I was swimming in. And I would have to get back into the water to get back to shore. It was momentarily revolting, but I held it together since nobody else seemed very phased.

Back at the hotel, I was thankful for a hot shower and the wonder drug Cipro. I started the course of antibiotics, wondering if Luang Prabang had any Brillo that I could scrub with.